Chapter 6
The Birth of Nax-Geot
[DATA: 20. CYCLE 9. YEAR 40 INDUSTRIAL]
[LOCATION: THE HIGH COURT — CENTRAL HALL, BLIN]
[TIME: 10:00 LOCAL]
[STATUS: PROCLAMATION OF THE VERDICT]
The news of Chancellor Hans’s death spread like a plague throughout Geot. Beyond the borders, the world held its breath. Anxiety had gripped the populace; the fact that a Bratan weapon was discovered at the scene had birthed a tension broken only by the looming dread of a new war.
?The weather grew progressively colder, emptying the streets of Blin, but the silence was deceptive. Newspapers tossed through the streets by a feral wind bore only one name in their headlines: HANS. Rumors and whispers saturated the city’s heavy air.
?Inside the High Court, the atmosphere was even more glacial. The corridors remained in absolute stillness, guarded from the journalists who waited like hyenas outside the hall. Within, the dim light reflected off the deputies and judges concealed behind high desks of black wood. The hall was engineered to intimidate anyone who dared still believe in the law. To Halter, those marble columns were nothing more than beautifully aligned gravestones for a system rotting from within.
?He observed the Chief Justice—a man who bore the weight of authority with the same difficulty a child wears adult clothing.
?“The Council has reached a decision,” the judge declared with a voice striving to sound sovereign. “Power shall transition to the Court until the next elections for Chancellor.”
?Suddenly, a dry cough interrupted the solemnity of the chamber. It was a blatant insult to protocol. Halter rose slowly from his simple wooden chair. He appeared insignificant in that gargantuan hall... until he opened his mouth.
?“Forgive me, honorable Justice, but I object.”
?The judge struck his gavel lightly, his eyes emitting sparks of fury.
“Silence in the court! Sit down and keep your place, General.”
?Halter did not stir. Instead, he let out another cough, even louder, openly gambling with their nerves.
“Asking me to remain silent is akin to telling the people not to raise their voices while their home is ablaze.”
?The judge scowled and struck the gavel with force this time.
“General, mind your words! You stand before the law, not in some street tavern. Furthermore... we have several open matters regarding you as well.”
?While the judges conferred over documents, Halter stood frozen in a display of resolve that radiated danger. His eyes did not see men of the law, but puppets in black robes. The Chief Justice smiled with a pale triumph, lifting several sheets.
?“According to these documents, General, you have violated international laws of war by deploying mustard gas on the Byg front. You are accused of crimes against human morality. For this, the law mandates a sentence of 50 to 80 years of imprisonment.”
?Halter emitted a faint smirk. With slow, measured strides, he began to walk toward the judges’ bench. The rhythmic strike of his metallic boots upon the marble floor was like a countdown. Every step told the judges that their time for words had expired.
[LOCATION: THE HIGH COURT — CENTRAL HALL, BLIN]
?[TIME: 10:15 LOCAL]
?[STATUS: COUP D’éTAT — EXECUTION OF THE “NEW ORDER”]
He halted directly before the high bench of the judges.
?“To sentence me to eighty years of imprisonment, honorable Justice,” his voice was low, yet every word weighed like lead, “is akin to asking a drowning man to pay a water tax. You possess a sense of humor I did not expect from a man wearing a robe that hangs so loosely upon his shoulders.”
?He took another step, ignoring the gavel that struck the desk in desperation.
?“You speak of war crimes. But you forget that you are committing an even greater crime: you are crushing your people with paper and ink. When a violated woman was dying amidst the snows of Vica, where was your law? She pleaded at every door, yet not a single one opened. She died pure in the snow, because your ‘justice’ was too preoccupied counting Hans’s coin.”
?The judge rose to his feet, his face turning a deep shade of purple.
?“General, you are crossing every boundary! Either sit down, or you will be declared a deserter and executed by firing squad!”
?Halter stared him directly in the eye, as if studying an insect beneath a microscope.
?“Crossing boundaries? No... I haven’t even begun. You will surrender the power of this state to me. Now.”
?The hall froze. A deathly silence fell over the deputies, followed by an explosion of revolt. But before the shouts could escalate, the marble walls began to shudder. It was not an earthquake. It was a march. A single, heavy, mechanical strike that made the water glasses on the tables dance in terror.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
?The massive doors of the hall swung open with an impact that resembled a cannon shot. They did not enter as men, but as black silhouettes. Uniforms without ranks, without flags—bearing only a single symbol on the chest: an inverted red triangle with a black eagle at the center.
?They had no faces, only dark lenses reflecting the dim light. The courtroom guards froze, their hands on their triggers, powerless. Halter’s soldiers lined both sides of the walls with a movement so swift they appeared to be part of the building’s architecture.
[SUBJECT: H-CLASS — ARMAMENT: UNKNOWN]
“General, explain yourself! What is the meaning of this?” the Justice stammered, his face now ashen.
?“As I told you: either power, or death. Choose.”
?“What you are doing, General, is against the law.”
?“You still haven’t grasped it. I am the law. I am justice. I am the judgment.”
?The judges looked into Halter’s eyes, but there was nothing to find. They were the eyes of a man who had already decided their fate. There were no further objections. With trembling hands, the judges signed the documents, surrendering everything to the man who, until five minutes ago, was their defendant. The Chief Justice bowed his head and struck the gavel one last time.
?“By the power vested in us... we proclaim you Chancellor, Mr. Halter.”
?Halter took the papers with care. He began to exit backward, reading them as if checking a mundane receipt. At the threshold, he paused and coughed lightly.
?“It was an honor to know you. But, as they say, there can be no beginning without an end. Your services are no longer required, gentlemen.”
?The door closed slowly, leaving behind the faces of ghosts. From outside the hall, only screams pleading for mercy were heard, muffled by the short, precise bursts of his forces.
?When Halter emerged from the building, he adjusted his cap and faced the swarm of journalists.
?“Listen, everyone. I am the new Chancellor... Chancellor Halter. I expect you tomorrow before the city center, where I shall deliver my first address to the people.”
?He walked through them with slow strides. The rhythmic strike of his boots upon the asphalt felt as if it were crushing the hearts of those present. The sun was setting over Blin, but it was not merely the end of the day. It was the funeral of an old world and the birth of an order where there was no longer room for error.
[DATA: 21. CYCLE 9]
?[LOCATION: CENTRAL PLAZA “VICTORIA” — BLIN]
?[TIME: 11:00 LOCAL]
?[STATUS: PROCLAMATION OF THE NEW ORDER — SPEECH: “THE ROTTEN SEED”]
The city was seething. It was no longer the suffocating silence of Hans’s era, but a nervous roar, thick with anticipation. People had converged upon the plaza like a human river pouring toward the towering podium. The frigid wind continued to force the clouds into a dance before the sun, but the sparse rays that pierced through gave Blin a metallic sheen, as if the city itself were donning a new uniform.
?Backstage, Halter was making final adjustments. The long black greatcoat, emblazoned with the triangle and eagle symbol, bestowed upon him an almost post-human aura. Beside him, a junior deputy reported in a hushed tone.
?“The old system had bled the people to the bone, Chancellor. All those assets are now frozen in the State Bank.”
?Halter adjusted his cap before the mirror without glancing at his interlocutor.
?“A state does not feed on bank accounts, but on industry. Divert every coin toward armament factories and gargantuan construction projects. We will give them labor, we will give them purpose, and above all... we will grow so powerful that no one will dare look us in the eye.”
?When Halter stepped onto the podium, the clamor of thousands was cut as if by a blade. He required no blaring microphones; his presence sufficed. He let his eyes roam over the crowd—not as a politician seeking votes, but as a sculptor surveying his medium.
?“I am not here because I crave power,” he began, and his voice spread like a cold wave over the plaza. “I am here because you have lived your entire lives with your eyes half-closed. There exists a foul seed that grows in every soil.”
?He paused, letting the words carry their weight.
?“That seed bears no flag, no faith, no nation. In Geot, it is at home. In Bratan, likewise. Everywhere. It feeds on your blood, and they taught you to call it the ‘World Order.’ They taught you to hate your neighbor for their race, their religion, or borders you did not draw... while those who sowed the seed feast upon your backs and laugh.”
?Halter leaned forward, his voice sharpening.
?“We did not raise this state for hollow grandeur. We raised it together because someone must burn this seed to the root. I did not want war. I wanted to write. To paint. To build wonders. But they brought the war to our doorstep.”
?“And we shall not return it merely for Geot. We shall return it for humanity. For art, for culture, for the identity they are slowly stealing from us through the trade of flesh and soul. This is not my war. It is the war they forced upon us!”
?When he concluded, the open theater of the plaza remained in a divine silence. The people knew not how to react. Halter had just granted them something Hans never knew: Self-conviction. He did not promise them bread; he promised them dignity through fire.
[POPULACE MORALE: 95% — LEVEL: FANATIC]
[DATA: 21. CYCLE 9]
?[LOCATION: GOVERNMENT BUILDING — BLIN]
?[TIME: 12:30 LOCAL]
The anticipation shattered. The silence of the plaza was broken by a single voice, followed by thousands more, until it swelled into a thunderous roar that rattled the city’s windows:
?“HALTER! HALTER! HALTER!”
?He acknowledged them with a slight nod—a parsimonious gesture that bore the authority of an ancient king. He yielded the podium to his deputy to proceed with the technicalities and retreated into the central hall. Behind him marched a retinue of deputies and advisors, famished for orders.
?Suddenly, in the middle of the long corridor, near the entrance to the washrooms, Halter halted. His stride, ever confident and rhythmic, simply ceased.
?“Forgive me, gentlemen,” he said without turning. “You may proceed. I shall join you shortly.”
?They exchanged bewildered glances, yet none dared to question him. They continued their march, the sound of their boots fading slowly at the end of the corridor.
?Halter entered the washroom and latched the door behind him. He moved to the basin, leaned over, and turned the tap. The cold water struck his face, granting a fleeting moment of serenity amidst the chaos of power. Then, the cough came. Dry. Violent. Unforeseen.
?He gripped the marble tightly with one hand, struggling to draw breath. When he opened his eyes and lowered his gaze, the pristine white porcelain was stained. Several droplets of vivid crimson were scattered erratically across the cold surface.
?He remained there a second longer than necessary, staring at the ultimate proof that no army and no title could shield him from what was unfolding within his own frame. With a swift motion, he forced the tap wide open, washing away the blood until the porcelain was blanched once more, and wiped his lips.
?He straightened. The mirror reflected the same cold, stern, and unwavering visage. No sign of weakness was permitted to escape that room. He opened the door and stepped back into the corridor, adjusting his black gloves, ready to continue the construction of his empire.
[SUBJECT H VITALS: STABLE / HEMORRHAGE RISK: 5%]
Author's Note:
